


touch me, tease me, fill me up

by lilcrickee



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Egg Laying, M/M, Oviposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilcrickee/pseuds/lilcrickee
Summary: It’s hard to prepare for something Mark’s never done before, but Johnny tells him he doesn’t have to do anything differently, so Mark just—goes through his normal pre-sex routine. When he comes out of the shower, Johnny’s lying on the bed, already naked and hard. Mark takes a long moment to just stand and stare, take in the flex of Johnny’s abs and the definition of muscle along his arms, the curling tattoo that wraps around his shoulder and the upper part of his left bicep. He looks—hot. Ordinary and hot, not like he’s about to put fuckingeggsinside of Mark.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 22
Kudos: 285





	touch me, tease me, fill me up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cobalamincosel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobalamincosel/gifts).



> a little gift for mon for being such a wonderful friend! we both did a random prompt generator and got something that was essentially the same; for reference, my prompt was "sexy canadian oviposition" (also the working title of this fic, lol). and here we are.
> 
> this is just porn. there's no logic in regards to human anatomy in this so, you know, just forget about practicalities and enjoy the eggs.
> 
> unbeta'd. title is a play on a line from wayv's _love talk_.

“So, I have this thing.”

Mark looks up from the ridiculous amount of work emails that have piled up in his inbox since Friday afternoon. Why are so many people emailing on the weekend? Haven’t these people heard of work-life balance?

“What kind of a thing?” Mark asks, setting his phone down and laying his head on the table. “A work thing? Dude, we’re in the middle of a pandemic. I wouldn’t go even if it were allowed.”

“It’s not a work thing,” Johnny says, setting his coffee mug down on the counter. He comes over to the table, a little hesitant, which sets off Mark’s alarm bells. Johnny is never hesitant. He’s confident and flirty and sometimes a little haughty, but he’s never cautious. Not around Mark, at least, who flushes and stumbles his way through at least 50 percent of the conversations he has with Johnny, despite having been dating him for the past eight months. 

“Okay, so—”

“It’s a sex thing.”

Mark feels himself blush all the way up to the roots of his hair. “Uh,” he says eloquently.

This, at least, seems to ease some of the tension in Johnny’s shoulders. He offers Mark a smirk and sits down opposite him at the table. “What’s the matter?” he asks, voice lowering. Mark swallows nervously. “Cat got your tongue?”

Mark’s not _bad_ about talking about sex stuff, and he’s no blushing virgin either, but there’s something a little foreboding about the way Johnny has called it _a thing_. They both got tested four months ago so they could stop using condoms, so unless Johnny’s been cheating on him, Mark’s sure it’s not an STD, which means it’s probably an unusual kink. Or a fetish. Mark bites the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Johnny says casually, leaning back in his chair. “It’s just—a little different. Out of the ordinary. I think you’d like it, though.”

Mark blinks. “Well, you know I’m down for anything as long as we talk about it first,” he says.

“Okay, cool,” Johnny says, then adds, “So. How do you feel about eggs?”

It turns out that the sex thing is that Johnny lays eggs.

It’s some weird mutation that’s been passed down through his father’s side of the family for as long as any of them can remember. Once a year, Johnny needs to stick his dick into someone and lay a clutch of eggs in them. The past few years he’s managed with a family friend who's known about the secret for ages, but this year, Johnny has Mark. 

“If it’s too weird, you don’t have to do it,” Johnny says. They’ve migrated to the couch and he’s fiddling with one of their throw cushions on his lap. “I just thought it might be nice to do this with someone that actually means something to me.”

Mark is touched, if not a little apprehensive. He’s never had eggs laid in him before. “Uh, I just have a few questions, I guess,” he says.

“Sure.”

“Do they hurt?”

“I mean, I’ve never had an egg shoved up my ass before, but my FWB told me that it’s actually a very pleasant experience.”

Mark glares at Johnny and tries not to give in when Johnny just grins, leans over, and kisses his cheek. 

“Okay, fine. And how do they come out?”

Johnny shrugs. “I mean, same way anything comes out of your ass, I guess,” he says. 

“Oh my god,” Mark mutters. He knows he’s going to agree to this in the end, but Johnny’s not exactly saying anything that’s making Mark any less nervous about the whole ordeal. 

“Look, my FWB came, like, four times when he pushed out my last clutch. It’s not like what you see in the movies about women giving birth. This will be fun.”

Mark rolls the words around in his head for a moment before repeating, “Four times?”

Johnny’s smile is devilish. He’s so handsome it makes something ache in Mark’s chest sometimes. How did he end up with such a nice, hot boyfriend? Who apparently has to lay eggs once a year? Mark doesn’t know.

“Yeah, four times,” Johnny repeats. He reaches out and tugs Mark across the couch and into his lap. “But you’re way more sensitive than him, so I bet you’ll come more than he did.”

Mark shudders and ducks his head into Johnny’s shoulder, mouthing lightly at the skin he finds peeking out from the collar of Johnny’s shirt. “When do you need to lay them?” he asks.

Johnny hums, rubs his thumbs into the jut of Mark’s hip bones and rocks them together gently. There’s no urgency to it, just some lazy frottage on a Monday morning. “Tomorrow, probably,” Johnny says. “They’ll incubate in you for three days, and then you’ll lay them.”

“Oh,” Mark says. “Can you tell that they’re in me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny murmurs. He draws Mark’s head up so that they’re face-to-face. His eyes are a little glassy, glazed over with lust. “Yeah, you’re gonna be round with them, baby. So full for me.”

Mark’s mouth goes dry. He’s never thought about kids, and as a guy, he’s definitely never thought about physically _having_ his own kids, but now that the idea is planted in his mind, he can’t help but obsess over it. Johnny’s clutch in him, filling him up. Mark rolls his hips faster.

“Shit, okay, yeah, let’s do it,” he says as Johnny rocks his hips up against his. “It’s a good thing we work from home.”

Johnny laughs and ducks his head for a kiss. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It sure is.”

It’s hard to prepare for something Mark’s never done before, but Johnny tells him he doesn’t have to do anything differently, so Mark just—goes through his normal pre-sex routine. When he comes out of the shower, Johnny’s lying on the bed, already naked and hard. Mark takes a long moment to just stand and stare, take in the flex of Johnny’s abs and the definition of muscle along his arms, the curling tattoo that wraps around his shoulder and the upper part of his left bicep. He looks—hot. Ordinary and hot, not like he’s about to put fucking _eggs_ inside of Mark.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, though he makes no move to sit up. “Get over here.”

Mark swallows audibly but drops his towel on the floor there in the doorway and pads over to the bed. He climbs up, pauses momentarily, then swings himself across Johnny’s hips and settles in.

“Hi,” he says lamely. Johnny looks up at him and grins. 

“Hi,” he echoes, reaching up to smooth a hand down the plane of Mark’s chest. “You good?”

Mark shrugs. “I guess so,” he says. He’s nervous, but not any more nervous than he usually is when they try new things in bed that he hasn’t suggested himself. “I mean, it’s just kind of weird. Not, like, bad weird. Just. You know. Eggs.”

Johnny laughs. He sits up so that they’re closer, arm snaking around Mark’s waist to keep him balanced. For a moment, his expression turns serious and he says, “You’re not, like—It’s not because it’s me, right?”

Mark blinks.

“Sorry, I mean, like, you’re not super weirded out that your boyfriend of eight months has suddenly revealed to you that he lays eggs in people once a year?”

It takes Mark a startling long moment to realize that the look in Johnny’s eyes is insecurity, like he’s worried that now—when they’re naked on top of each other—is the moment that Mark will back out and run screaming not just from this encounter, but from their relationship as a whole. It’s understandable, though. Egg-laying is not exactly a common thing, and it’s a little different than Johnny just dropping onto the couch and asking if he wants to try bondage. 

“Like I said,” Mark says carefully, looping his arms around Johnny’s neck. “It’s weird, but not bad weird. Kind of like that time we tried the stuff with the ice cubes.”

“Oh my god, don’t remind me,” Johnny mutters, hiding his face in Mark’s neck. Mark strokes a hand through his hair gently. “My ass had, like, an aversion to the cold for a month after that.”

Mark laughs, kisses the shell of Johnny’s ear and says, “I want to do this. With you. I want you to lay some eggs in me so I can shit them out and have four orgasms three days from now.”

Johnny laughs. “Always the romantic,” he says, but he tips backwards so that he’s sprawled out on his back again. “Okay,” he continues. “Let’s get started.”

The foreplay is easy. It’s easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of kissing Johnny and rutting slowly against him as Mark works himself up. Johnny’s eager, his hands wandering from Mark’s hips to cup his ass, palms spreading the cheeks apart before letting go to trail his hands elsewhere. Mark groans into the feeling.

“Okay, so,” Johnny says, panting against Mark’s lips. “So, I guess I should mention that right now, my dick is like. Wet. But with egg stuff.”

“Egg stuff,” Mark repeats.

“Sorry, I don’t know what else to call it. But it makes everything easier, makes it all feel good for you. You didn’t think the four orgasms were going to come because shitting out an egg was going to actually feel good, did you?”

“Well, I don’t know, Johnny,” Mark says dryly, kissing Johnny’s jaw. “I truly had not given much thought to it.”

Johnny laughs. “I just don’t want you to be alarmed.”

“Johnny—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Getting eggs laid in you is alarming enough.” 

Mark’s relieved to see that Johnny’s smiling at him when he pulls back. For as oddly sexy as the situation is, there’s a tinge of nerves settling in the air. Johnny looks like he’s still worried Mark might bolt at any moment, so Mark reaches out and cups Johnny’s jaw.

“Hey,” he says, soft, quiet. “I trust you. I want this with you. I love you. Stop freaking out so much.”

Johnny’s chest expands with the deep breath he takes. He lets it all out in one big rush. “Okay,” he says, more to himself than to Mark. He reaches around Mark and strokes his own dick, getting it slicked up in the viscous fluid that Mark can see coats the entire shaft. “I just—want it to be good for you.”

“By the sounds of it, it will be,” Mark reassures. “Now, come on. Stick some eggs in me.”

The sticky substance from Johnny’s dick doesn’t feel a whole lot different than lube, at least, not to Mark’s ass. Johnny fingers him open easily, slipping two, then three fingers inside him and pumping them easily. Mark rolls his hips in time with Johnny’s thrusts, sighing gently whenever Johnny stretches his fingers or pets at his rim with his thumb. On the odd occasion Johnny brushes against his prostate, Mark groans. 

“Johnny,” Mark gasps. His dick feels heavy and full, rubbing along Johnny’s abs. He could get off like this, pushing back against Johnny’s fingers, but he doesn’t want to. He wants Johnny’s dick in him, filling him up, stretching him out. And then the eggs.

“Okay, okay,” Johnny mutters. He pulls his fingers free, squeezes Mark’s hip with his dry hand, before lining himself up against Mark’s hole.

The first push always startles Mark, the intense stretch of his body accommodating Johnny’s girth. He grunts softly, willing his body to relax as Johnny keeps up a steady pressure, sliding in slowly until he’s buried all the way, his ass flush to Johnny’s hips. Mark sighs as the weight of Johnny settles in him.

“Good?” Johnny asks, stroking a hand over Mark’s flank.

“Yeah, always,” Mark mumbles, before rocking gently, trying to figure out the best rhythm.

He loves being on top of this because Johnny always hits so much _deeper_ inside of him. It makes Mark feel so full, and the idea that he’ll be even more full later pushes an involuntary moan out of him. For as weird as it is, Mark is starting to feel excited about the idea of carrying Johnny’s clutch of eggs inside him for the next few days. He wants to be able to feel the weight of them, wants to feel them settle in him, traces of Johnny buried in him long after Johnny is gone.

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Johnny groans, head tilted back against the pillows. He pushes his hips up to meet Mark’s, fingers leaving bruises against Mark’s hips. “Can you feel the difference?”

Mark had, honestly, forgotten about the pseudo-lube Johnny’s dick had secreted prior to Mark sitting on it, but now that he’s actively thinking about it, he thinks he can tell. For one, there’s a pleasant tingling at his rim, both numbing and over-sensitizing at the same time. And he feels wet inside. Like, _really_ wet. His insides feel coated and sticky, and the noise of Johnny’s dick thrusting into him is audible even over their harsh breathing and the slap of their bodies meeting. 

“Y-yeah, I think so,” he moans.

Johnny grins up at him, wolfish and predatory. “It’ll help you relax,” he says, slowing his thrusting so that they’re more just grinding together. “Helps all your muscles get all … stretchy. And it creates this little pocket inside of you, for the clutch.”

His dick brushes against Mark’s prostate and Mark feels like a bolt of lighting has exploded down his spine. He arches his back, hands scrabbling across Johnny’s chest as he whines, high and needy.

“Oh,” Johnny sighs, petting Mark’s stomach gently. “And it heightens all of your pleasure and dulls the pain.”

Well. What an incredibly useful self-lubricating dick.

“Why—why can’t it do that all the time?” Mark stutters, clinging to Johnny’s biceps. He’s not going to last. Not if all the best things about sex are being dialed up to 100, and now that he’s thinking about it, he can really tell the difference. He feels acutely aware of all the points that Johnny’s dick is touching inside him, can tell precisely how stretched he is where Johnny slides in and out of him. Every ridge and vein on Johnny’s dick is apparent to him, the ways they brush against him inside, little points of pleasure that Mark’s never noticed before.

“Sorry, darling. I just save it for special occasions,” Johnny grunts.

In a way, it’s kind of nice. It can be something that Mark can look forward to in the future, which in itself is a weird thought because, well. They’ve only been dating for eight months, decided to move into Johnny’s apartment in the first two to quarantine together. Mark likes to think that this is going to be a long-lasting relationship, but if Johnny’s body only produces a clutch of eggs once a year, well. That means Mark’s looking at least a year into the future, and in quarantine relationship time, that’s the equivalent to half a lifetime.

Mark is ripped out of his thoughts by a particularly precise thrust against his prostate. He shouts, unable to keep the noise from escaping his throat.

“Am I boring you?” Johnny asks, pouting. He tugs Mark down into a kiss. “My alien dick not doing it for you?”

“No,” Mark mumbles against Johnny’s lips. “I mean, yes. I mean. I was just thinking about—a year from now. Doing this again a year from now.”

Johnny’s eyes seem to glaze over and he moans, long and low before capturing Mark’s lips with his own. His thrusting gets faster as his tongue works its way into Mark’s mouth, and all Mark can do, really, is hold on for the ride, little moans escaping him every time Johnny thrusts in.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so good to me,” Johnny mumbles. “Knew you were perfect from the moment I met you.”

“Johnny,” Mark moans. He’s so close, he can taste the orgasm on the back of his tongue. “J-johnny, _please_.”

“Okay, okay, c’mon,” Johnny grunts, letting go of Mark’s hip with one hand. He reaches behind Mark, slides his fingers along the point where they’re joined, and Mark jolts at the feeling. He’s so oversensitive, the added pressure against his rim as Johnny probes curiously is almost too much.

It becomes apparent what Johnny’s goal is when he brings his hand to Mark’s dick, coated in the lube that his body has created. He fists Mark’s dick quickly, and Mark moans. The sensation is unreal, simultaneously bright and consuming as well as molten and pulsing. It’s too much, and it only takes Johnny a few pulls before Mark is spilling across their bellies.

“Oh, oh, Johnny,” he moans, arms shaking with the effort of keeping himself from just flopping on top of Johnny.

“There you go,” Johnny murmurs. His hips haven’t slowed; if anything, they piston faster, and Mark clings to Johnny’s shoulders as he works through the aftershocks of his orgasm. “So good. You feel so good. It’s almost time, baby. I can feel it.”

For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the harsh sound of Johnny’s breath and Mark’s breathy moans, intermingled with the slapping of their skin and the wet, squelching noise of Johnny’s dick as it pushes through the mess of slick that he’s left inside of Mark. Normally, Mark would be oversensitive by now, but as it is, he feels pleasantly buzzed, almost like he’s had a few shots of soju. Drunk.

And then he feels it.

It starts as a light pressure against his rim, a sensation that Mark finds himself pressing back into, despite how tired he feels. The pressure becomes more insistent and Mark moans, grinding his hips against Johnny’s.

“Is that—? Is that the egg?” he gasps.

“The first one,” Johnny grunts. His hands are back on Mark’s hips, and he nudges them both up into a seated position to guide Mark’s hips as he works the egg against Mark’s rim, trying to get it to push inside.

Mark feels himself stretch, feels the egg pull him wider than he’s been before. It should hurt, but Johnny’s lube dulls the pain and makes it just feel—intense. He whines, head tossed back, and Johnny dives in to suck a mark against his throat as the egg finally, _finally_ pushes into him. 

Johnny curses, hips stuttering in their rhythm before he begins to shallowly thrust again. Mark can feel the egg moving up inside him, _moving up Johnny’s dick inside him_ before there’s a pressure deep inside him and then—it’s done. Mark doesn’t know how he knows, but he can tell that Johnny’s pushed the egg out of himself into Mark, into the little pocket of slick inside him where Mark will keep it safe until it’s time to birth them.

Johnny looks—euphoric. His eyes have rolled back and he’s making soft little whining noises in the back of his throat. Mark’s never seen him this way before, so he ducks his head and mouths at Johnny’s neck even as he feels the next egg pushing at his rim.

Mark comes again sometime after the fourth egg is pushed into him, the sensation of his rim stretching coupled with the other eggs already inside him bumping against his prostate. He shivers through it, unsure of whether to lean into the pleasure or to try and shy away from it. Johnny kisses his temple and says, “You’re doing so well. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Mark sighs. The fourth egg settles in him just as the fifth starts to press insistently at him. “I feel so full. I love it.”

“Knew you would,” Johnny replies. “You’re always whining about how you want my dick in you all the time. I knew you’d like this. So grateful that you wanted to do this with me, for me.”

Mark tips his head back and cries out as the fifth egg pushes into him.

In total, Johnny lays seven eggs. They feel like the size of jawbreakers, but Johnny cautions him that they’ll grow a little before they’re ready to be birthed. The last thing he does before pulling out, though, is come. Johnny groans, long and low as he pumps his hips a few more times into Mark, as if he can push his come even deeper into him. It jolts something inside of Mark.

“Dude,” Mark says, panic edging through the haze. “Are you, like, _fertilizing_ them?”

Around the pleasure, Johnny laughs. “Technically, yeah,” he groans. His grip on Mark’s hips tightens, like he knows Mark will try and bolt if he doesn’t. “I’m sterile, though. At least, for these eggs I am.”

Mark exhales a sigh of relief, slumping back down against Johnny. It’s harder now; there’s a visible pouch to his lower stomach that wasn’t there before, and Mark knows it’s the eggs. The eggs Johnny put inside of him.

It feels like a lifetime before Johnny finally, gingerly, pulls out of him with a loud _squelch_. Surprisingly, none of the slick leaks out, which Mark mostly just chalks up to the weird alien-quality of it. He’s suddenly too tired to give any of the logistics of the sex they just had any thought.

“Rest,” Johnny says, sounding amused. “I’ll get you a cloth and we can order in for dinner.”

“M’kay,” Mark mumbles, already drifting off as he rolls onto his back, trying not to crush the eggs. The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is Johnny’s fond smile.

Mark is kind of astounded by how much he grows over the next three days. What starts as a small pouch in his lower belly eventually grows to a noticeable bump. Nothing to indicate that the eggs are massive, but if Mark could guess—based on the visible evidence as well as the weight inside of him—he’d say the eggs are the size of baseballs by the time they’re ready to come out.

On the morning of the third day, we wakes up to the feeling of an incredible pressure in his gut. He gasps, sitting up instinctively, before doubling over at the discomfort that radiates out of his pelvis as he does so. 

“Johnny,” he whimpers.

Johnny’s awake instantly, rolling over and sitting up as soon as he catches sight of Mark. “Oh,” he says, grinning wildly. “It’s time.”

They never actually discussed the birth plan, and now that Mark is in the throes of it all, he desperately wishes that they had. As it is, Johnny scoops him up in his arms and carries him to the bathroom. He strips Mark of all his clothes and then lowers him into the empty bathtub, arranging Mark so that his leg hangs out over the side, his head pillowed on a rolled up towel.

“I thought you said this was going to be—ah!—pleasurable,” Mark groans. The pressure in his abdomen is increasing. He’s starting to sweat, perspiration beading along his hairline.

“It will, it will,” Johnny coos. He grabs a damp towel from the counter and dabs at Mark’s forehead with it. “Just a little bit longer. I promise. It’ll be fine in a minute.”

Mark groans, back arching. The pressure feels like it’s at a tipping point, like it might burst inside of him, and Mark’s not exactly sure what might be waiting for him on the other side. For the first time since they started this whole—egg-laying thing, Mark feels nervous.

And then, almost like Mark’s cracked his back after a long day of sitting at his desk, the pressure breaks. It pops like a bubble, and Mark relaxes. He feels the eggs jostle around inside him and—oh. There’s the pleasure. He becomes acutely aware of the stretch of them inside, the way they bump up against his walls, rub at his prostate. It only takes a minute before Mark is hard, dick curved up against his belly, sweat dotting his temples for an entirely different reason now.

“I—I think it’s starting,” Mark stutters, then moans as the eggs shift. He bears down on them, feels them begin to slide inside him. 

“Good, you’re doing perfect, baby,” Johnny says, leaning in to kiss Mark’s temple. He rubs a hand against Mark’s belly, murmurs encouraging words to him as Mark moans and keeps pushing. 

When he feels the first egg push against his rim, he whines. “Johnny,” he calls, almost delirious from the pleasure. It feels like he’s been on the verge of coming since the pressure in him burst, and he knows that the stretch of his rim around the egg will be what gets him there. “Johnny, please.”

“Hey, yeah, okay. It’s okay,” Johnny says. The hand that was rubbing Mark’s belly disappears, much to Mark’s distress, but it appears again between his legs. Johnny’s fingers rub gently at his rim, thumb shifting up to pet across his perineum, and then stroke the underside of his balls. Mark whines.

“Just a little more, baby, you can do it,” Johnny says. “Come on, push.”

With a groan, Mark pushes until he feels like he might break, the pleasure mounting in him as his rim stretches an impossible amount. Johnny pets at the thin skin, coaxes him gently, until finally, the egg pops out.

As he suspected, Mark comes from the pleasure of it, an orgasm that has him arching his back and shouting, whole body shaking through it. He can feel the other eggs moving in him, urged along by the contracting of his body, and Mark thinks hysterically that he’s not ready. He needs a break, but the eggs, do not wait.

The second egg is already pushing at his rim once Mark comes down from his high. He whimpers, head thrashing. “Johnny,” he begs. It feels like it’s the only thing he’s been capable of saying all morning.

“I know, I know,” Johnny says. He looks—adoring, like Mark is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, which Mark doubts since he’s all sweaty and crazed. “Just six more. You can do it.”

Six more seems daunting at best. Mark whines as the second egg struggles to breach him, even as Johnny begins to massage him again, little strokes of talented fingers over fragile skin.

Despite how excited Mark had been to experience the pleasure of the birthing of the eggs, now that he’s here, it feels like too much. He comes again after the third egg, and again after the fourth, but after that it just feels … continuous. The pleasure never lessens, and Mark feels like he’s being crushed by a wave, dragged down and out again and again as the eggs continue to work their way out of him. It’s too much, and Mark feels himself scream as the sixth egg slips out of him.

“One more, baby,” Johnny breathes. He’s as sweaty as Mark, hair pushed back off his face, bottom lip bitten red. “You’re doing so well. You’re almost there. Push for me, Mark.”

Mark bears down, wailing as the pleasure mounts in him again, rushing over him and drowning him like a tidal wave. The egg presses against his rim, and Mark pushes, cries as he struggles to get the last egg to crown. 

“Johnny!” he sobs, hands scrabbling against the side of the tub. Johnny catches one with his free hand, squeezes tightly as Mark’s hips buck. “Johnny, please!”

“Almost, baby,” Johnny murmurs, eyes trained on where the egg is stretching Mark wide. “One more. Just one more push.”

With a guttural moan, Mark pushes as hard as he can and the last egg finally slips out of him. The wave of pleasure crashes over him, shaking Mark straight to the core. He feels his dick kick even though there’s nothing left in him to spill.

Mark’s only half aware of Johnny moving around him, scooping up the eggs and getting them out of the bathtub. He has a moment to catch sight of them, an assortment of mottled purple spheres, almost the size of a baseball, like Mark thought. Johnny whisks them away and comes back a moment later, pulling the showerhead off its holder and turning the spray on to lukewarm. 

He washes Mark like that, taking care to be gentle but thorough around Mark’s stretched hole. As Mark comes down from his high, he feels just how empty he is; it’s weird, after three days of being full of Johnny’s clutch.

“Feels weird,” he mumbles, trailing his own hand down between his legs. “Empty.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, sounding apologetic. He shields Mark’s eyes as he washes the last of the shampoo out of his hair. “It’ll be like that for a bit. Sorry about that.”

Mark shrugs. It’s not really Johnny’s fault. 

He feels a bit more lucid when Johnny carries him back to bed. Mark gives himself a moment to take stock of his body before asking, “Hey, what did you do with the eggs?”

“Oh.” Johnny stands up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed and disappears down the hall. When he comes back, he’s holding a Rubbermaid box with a snap-on lid. Even though the box is clear, Johnny takes off the lid so Mark can further examine the eggs.

It’s hard to believe they were inside him, Mark thinks as he takes in their mottled appearance. He carried those eggs inside of himself, and then … birthed them. The idea makes a flush appear on his cheeks.

Johnny laughs and puts the lid back on the box. He leans in and kisses both of Mark’s cheeks.

“What will happen to them?” Mark asks as Johnny puts the box on the chair in the corner of their room and climbs back into bed.

“I’ll call someone to come and collect them later,” Johnny murmurs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He curls himself around Mark. They’re quiet for a long while, and Mark is just on the verge of drifting back to sleep when Johnny says, “Thanks. For doing that for me. You’re incredible. I love you.”

Warmth spreads through Mark, different from the pleasure that had coursed through him earlier. This feels pleasant, like slipping into a hot spring at the end of a long day. He nuzzles in close to Johnny. “It was good,” he says. “Super intense, but … good. I’d do it again.”

It reminds him of the thought he’d had when they’d been putting the eggs inside of him: the idea that they’ll still be together a year from now to do this again. Judging from the pleased hum that rumbles in Johnny’s chest, he’s thinking the same thing.

“Can’t wait,” he mumbles, kissing Mark’s temple. Mark can feel it when he grins, amused by something he had just thought of. “Hey, good job on the four orgasms, by the way. I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.”

Mark groans. “Oh my god,” he says. “I thought I was going to die after the third one. Or at least pass out.”

Johnny laughs. Mark feels it all through his body. “Well, I’m glad you made it,” he says. “Next time, let’s go for five.”

“Not a chance,” Mark replies, kissing the edge of Johnny’s jaw. The sun is rising higher in the sky, but the curtains are drawn so just a sliver of light filters in. They can spend all day in bed if they want, ignoring their work. There’s plenty more days to catch up, and plenty more days to spend together. They’ve got an entire year of boring, sex ahead of them, and even though it was wild and intimate and pleasurable beyond Mark’s wildest dreams to lay Johnny’s eggs, Mark’s looking forward to fewer orgasms in the immediate future.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/monstplaza) or [cc](http://curiouscat.me/monstplaza).


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